


That Face In The Mirror

by pastelcoke



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, No Beta, Scars, Self-Hatred, We Die Like Men, kind of just me projecting onto tord yada yada, post The End Tord, trigger warning for a depressive theme, very mild self-harm but it's not what you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:00:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24948835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelcoke/pseuds/pastelcoke
Summary: Tord washes his hands.And feels awfully bad about himself.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	That Face In The Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> me? self projecting onto my comfort character? pssh i would never
> 
> ( additional trigger warning if you didn't read the tags for mild self harm (he doesn't cut/burn himself) )

Dull grey eyes stared outwardly, a blank stare meeting their own foggy and half-minded gaze in the mirror, like an endless staring contest like one was waiting for his own reflection to blink first before he would ever dare tear his eyes away.

Blink. Followed by more meaningless staring again.

He told himself he’d look away eventually, but the more he stared, the harder he found it to look away. And it wasn’t the good type of admiration you’d longingly gaze fondly towards one you’re close with. No, it was more the excruciatingly long nothingness that came with empty, voided thoughts. However, once the man had realized what he had even been doing, he blinked twice, shaking his head before finally tearing his emotionless view away from the mirror, his hands tensing on the edge of the sink he clung to, his thoughts beginning to swirl back to him after his short moment of being out of it temporarily. Right. He was getting side tracked.  
Taking in a deep breath, Tord sighed out tiredly, leaning over the sink built into the messy bathroom counter he never thought twice to actually clean. Toothpaste smears and empty cups laid askew across the place, the entire room stinking heavily of old shampoo and body odor. Not really that he cared to notice anymore. He couldn’t remember the last time things _didn't_ look this way. He brought his gaze back down to the sink again, somehow not feeling the proper energy nor motivation to wash his own hands. That’s why he was in here, wasn’t he? To use the bathroom. Pee and go. A very simple, autopilot function ingrained within muscle memory he could do the whole sequence of steps with his eyes closed and even asleep. Hell, he was certain he even had before. But something about the simplest of tasks such as washing his hands after doing his business, something he’d done thousands of times since the day he knew how as a babbling infant, seemed to draw on long and forever that he could have sworn he’d been sitting (or standing) there staring at his own reflection for a couple hours now, despite in real time, it just being short of a few minutes. Time seemed to move slower, dragging on for ages to the point the Norwegian nearly forgot what he was doing or why he was there. Sighing once more smally, he finally got the guts to turn on the water and just… Let it run. Reaching for the soap was an extra step that seemed to take any and all of the energy he had left out of him. Which is why he didn’t do it. He slowly but surely, gradually slipped one hand underneath the cold, running water, the harsh feeling on his dry skin something new as he let it sit there and run, keeping his right hand still clinging to the exterior of the sink. He didn’t want to look at it. He didn’t want to look up either, but after a long nother minute of staring at his hand that started to softly glow red from the now numbing sensation of the bitterly cool water, he finally got the courage to stare right back at his face, but this time his view didn’t jump right to his tired eyes as a distraction.

And oh god, was he ugly.

He felt horrid and horrifically nauseous suddenly, nearly stumbling in place as he felt his knees might just suddenly give out beneath him as Tord was quick to slam the handle back down on the faucet to turn it off and stop the ever-going stream of cold water dramatically. It seemed like a bit of an overreaction, but to him it was perfectly and reasonably justified with how he felt in the moment. Or at least, he felt it was because he couldn’t control it. He hated staring back at that awful, ugly mug in the mirror, now cringing, screwing his face up with disgust, but he refused to turn away. This was something he did quite often now. He’d get stopped and distracted by his own reflection in the mirror and scowl. Scowl every day till permanent lines on his own face made him forever just twice as hideous as he saw himself. He was so violently revolved it made his arms and fists start to shake with absolute anger. He hated himself. And he was so indescribably mad about it. It made him entirely livid just to see his own face, his own reflection staring back at him disgustingly and disgust _fully._ Reaching a careful, cold, wet hand up to his face now, he leaned in, tenderly grazing and brushing the tips of his fingers all down the right side of his face. He hissed at the touch, a burning sensation flaring up all across his face and down his neck making him want to scream out in a furious pain and tear his whole body apart in anger. The whole side of his face was inflamed and burning with an obvious infection. As much as it scared the living shit out of him internally, he told himself he didn’t care. This was going to kill him. And he was going to die. And no one would ever care.

He bit down on his tongue now, roughly grazing it along the teeth in his mouth and moving it over the now gaps and holes left in his jaw where teeth and bits of gum were missing, brutally torn apart and out of his mouth that left an never-ending, agonizing pain in all hours of the day and all hours of the night. He was constantly tired and his body screamed in pain. Just thinking of it and mentally reminding himself to think about it caused salty tears to well up in his eyes painfully. He hated this. They fell slowly and as much as he wanted to wipe them away, the man only proceeded to continue his endless staring contest with himself and his reflection, hissing out in a slight addition to his pain as one singular tear cascaded down the side of his face and cheek, settling in of the main deep gashes and crevices torn into his shredded face. He could feel and see his vision blur, which it had always done occasionally, but this time he wasn’t even sure anymore whether it was the cloudiness of his tears, the non-stop agony he felt upon any contact with his skin, or perhaps, by his worst thoughts and fear, the start of a slow death he always feared. He shook his head. No, he wasn’t dying. He couldn’t die. This wasn’t going to kill him. He was afraid. He was always afraid of death and if he were to die from this, he prayed he would have just been killed the moment that sickening long blade of a two flue harpoon tore through his machinery in probably the scariest and most traumatic moment of his entire life that he wished he never had to experience. But now he was paying the unfortunate price. Bringing his shaking fingers back up however, which had yet to be cleaned properly and shouldn’t have been anywhere near any sort of wound, especially considering ones that were red and heavily infected, he poked at one of the larger gaps and cuts in his face. It stung, the drying water still on his hands not exactly making things a whole lot better for him. He pulled at it now, clenching his jaw as he started to pick at the peeling skin around the cut, yanking it off and away from his face agonizingly, not stopping until it was done and off before he absently dropped the flakes of burnt and dead skin onto the ground. Now proceeding to watch that area bleed again, he slowly came to realize that simply nothing could be done about it and he would simply just have to wait for it to clot once more, leaving him stiff and stuck in the bathroom for an additional amount of time that would pass by at a terribly slow pace. Like molasses in winter, dripping off a spoon. Grabbing a tissue nearby from the near empty box, he tried to remedy this anyways, remembering that he hated being in here for such long periods of time that always made him feel worse in the end. He wanted to leave, and he was ready to do that now. Now that he was bleeding and sick.

Pressing the dry paper to his face now, the cut and all those around it he managed to touch on accident, seared and screamed in pain, causing Tord’s grip on the counter top to tighten as he had to toughen it out and wait for the flair up in pain to ease or stop somewhat before he could continue. When he finally got his head again, he applied pressure to his, fighting back an outcry of pain. _Mercy, mercy_ , he internally begged. But to no relief and no avail did that work. He stood there, for a tortuously long time at that, before eventually he felt he needed to pull it away. It stuck and clung to his skin and he carefully yet slowly pulled it away, tearing some of his skin with it, Tord letting out an elongated whine subconsciously. He couldn’t take it. Taking another long moment to breathe, he eventually settled back down, walking over to drop the bloodied and torn tissue paper in the trash before ambling back over to the dreaded sink. He stopped for a moment, now decidedly reaching for the soap and lathering up his hands. Or at least… The one hand he still had, which sparked a phantom pain where his right hand really should have been still, despite its usable replacement with a robotic prosthetic that proved as a worthy counterpart and got the job done of, well… _Holding things_. Placing the bar of soap back onto the counter, he ran the water again, this time not as cold. He ran his fingers down the palm of his hand, letting the water clean and wash over the rest before after another minute, that surprisingly didn’t seem to take as long, he shut and turned off the water. Grabbing a towel next, he dried said hand before putting it back where it belonged before trudging towards the exit door. He really wished things weren’t this way, nor ever had to take so long. Taking a final glance back his reflection now, he cast a different gaze. One of pity and self healing. A spark of forgiveness within himself that was gone with the very next moment, disappearing just as quick as he came.

Then he opened the door.

And left.

**Author's Note:**

> don't worry i'm ok lol, just thought it'd make a neat writing prompt


End file.
